


Hotel

by Wireslide



Series: Fifty Ships [9]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Hair Pulling, M/M, Oral, This is more a lesson in Altean biology than it is porn, but also it's porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-16 21:02:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16961391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wireslide/pseuds/Wireslide
Summary: Alfor wants someone to have sex with him in this Hospitality Satellite. Coran deserves a reward.





	Hotel

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written as part of a 50-50 challenge.

The doors were old-fashioned, swinging on hinges rather than sliding neatly out of the way into the walls, and Coran was already tired of the way Alfor took advantage of it, standing completely in the way and bouncing the light metal from one hand to the other. The breeze was nice, he supposed, but attempting to get the bags in past Alfor's form was a challenge. He cleared his throat for what felt like the eighth time. “Alfor, really, if you could just--” He almost bit into the end of his tongue when the king turned towards him with a brilliant smile.

“Coran! Sorry, I should have helped you with the bags. I've never seen a door like this! Look at how much floor space has to be kept clear just to leave room for it!” He swung the door open again. “It's so inefficient! Isn't it fantastic to just be able to need extra space for a door?”

The redhead gave him a softening smile only slightly dimmed by exhaustion. “Alfor. I am in the hallway.”

Big blue eyes blinked at him in confusion, the faint reddish setting of Hospitality Satellite Urkyne's lights making the pink pupil look almost metallic. Coran almost missed the moment his statement sunk in, getting lost in the hypnotic contrast of Alfor's gaze. “Oh! Oh, Coran, I'm so sorry! You should be resting, anyway, you managed to keep the castle together long enough for us to get here!” He stepped out into the hall and shooed Coran into the suite, gathering up the bags himself and following the redhead inside.

Once in, Alfor paused, looked over his shoulder at the door, and grinned so widely that Coran was momentarily concerned that his face might stick that way. The king lifted one foot, balancing easily, and swung the door closed with a hiss of complete delight. “Did you see that, Coran! First time! I have never closed a door like that before and I did it with my _foot!_ ” He received another tired smile for his enthusiasm, and set down a couple of the suitcases to flap his hand at his friend. “Go take your boots off and lie down. You are exhausted and you've earned a rest. I'll put everything away. How long did the Yloi say the fumigation would take, again?”

“At least a local solar week, Alfor,” Coran reminded him, numbly shuffling towards the bed and toeing off his boots, “plenty of time to get nice and rested and explore the entire Hospitality... Satellite...” He slid facedown onto the coverlet and was snoring before Alfor had even sorted their bags.

The door between the Alteans' suite and the one next door swung open, and Zarkon stuck his head in. He saw Coran snoring on the bed and padded silently past him, smiling when he saw the blonde on the floor unpacking suitcases. “It's good you're letting him rest,” he hummed, crossing his arms and leaning against the corner of the wall, “but it's a little sad to watch you trying to unpack his bags and undoing all his hard work folding.”

“I can refold his shirts just fine,” Alfor said briskly, as he refolded Coran's clothes entirely wrong, “it's essentially a vacation, anyway, he doesn't need to look perfectly turned out. A wrinkle or two won't kill anyone.”

Zarkon rubbed his face, dragging his palm over his chin before he bent, picked up Alfor and moved him aside, then sat in his place and began carefully—and correctly—refolding Coran's clothes. “He is here representing your people as much as you are, Alfor,” he scolded, smoothing out the fine fabric of one of the engineer's uniforms as he slid it into the drawer, “a wrinkle in his clothing is just as detrimental as a wrinkle in yours.” He shook his head at the mess the tiny king had made of things, patiently shaking them out to correct them and put them away. “I'd ask who taught you how to fold clothing but I know that would be a pointless question.” He made a small startled noise as Alfor climbed into his lap and settled his hands on his shoulders.

“I have never had sex on a Hospitality Satellite,” the Altean told him quietly, sliding one hand back to press at the back of Zarkon's neck, “I think we should absolutely do that.”

The look he received was a cross between tortured and relaxing into the grip on his neck plates. “I wish you had said something earlier,” he breathed, brushing a massive hand over Alfor's leg, “I made plans for tonight.”

“What?” Alfor leaned back with a pout, his grip on Zarkon's neck pulling the larger man forward. “With whom?”

“That'd be us, Alfie,” Blaytz said quietly from the connecting door, eyeing Coran as he spoke, “Gyrgan and I are going to teach him to play poker.”

Releasing Zarkon's neck to squirm around and face Blaytz—and Gyrgan behind him—Alfor wrinkled his nose. “Why do you think he doesn't know how to play poker?”

With a slightly dissatisfied rumble, Zarkon settled his jaw on top of Alfor's head and wrapped his arms around him. “Galra don't have poker,” he said mildly, “when could I possibly have learned it?”

Gyrgan snickered. “Don't worry, we'll leave him enough money to pay for his part of the room after he comes crying in to you.”

“I'm serious, why do you think that he won't pick up on it immediately and win?” The blond frowned thoughtfully, reaching up and behind himself to grip the back of Zarkon's neck. He only looked comfortable when the Galra melted against him. “He tends towards clever, you know.”

Blaytz laughed, then clapped a hand over his mouth when Coran stirred on the bed. “Yeah, sure. But with that poker face? Your poor Zarkon doesn't stand a chance.”

Alfor blinked slowly at them, but by the low rumble that slid from Zarkon's throat, his grip had tightened. Finally, he leaned back and pressed his lips to Zarkon's armored jaw. “Take their skins if they put them on the line,” he hummed, then dropped his hand to gently prod at Zarkon's arms.

The big man dropped his head to rub his scant gland over Alfor's hair, marking him before obediently letting him go and getting back to his feet. “Remember to be careful unpacking,” he reminded the blond quietly, “Coran shouldn't have to iron and refold everything because you're careless. He's worn himself out enough lately.”

“I'll be more careful,” the Altean promised with a fond smile, “and I'll let him rest.” He took the warm seat on the floor as the other three left and closed the connecting door between them. As he busied himself putting the clothes away carefully, he focused on making sure the folds were directly on the seams. He didn't even realize that he was muttering to himself, or that Coran had rolled over to watch him, until the redhead spoke.

“I can do that for you, my king,” the manservant said with a faint slur, starting to push himself upright.

Alfor pointed an imperious finger at him. “Stay right there until you are rested, Coran,” he commanded quietly, “I will figure this out eventually, and you should still be sleeping.”

“Difficult to do with someone calling the laundry 'quiznacking piles of worthless ibban,'” the words came on a chuckle, but Coran seemed content to lay there drowsily and half-watch Alfor's struggles. He stroked a hand over the coverlet, listening to the undertone of hissing fabric with a faint smile. “It's only going to get more difficult,” he mumbled, “the longer you wait.”

The king let out a breath, carefully tucking away the sleeveless wrap-shirt in his hands. “You are exhausted,” he began.

“I am more than capable of helping you relieve the acids building up in your muscles,” the redhead sighed, starting to push himself upwards again, “before they start dissolving tissue and leaving scars.” He paused when he felt Alfor's hands on his shoulders, and obediently lay back down. He hummed thoughtfully, melting under the king's firm massage. “I could just lay here,” he offered happily, stretching out.

Alfor knelt over the top of him, leaning down to brush his hair off to one side and press a kiss behind one pointed ear. “I am supposed to be letting you rest,” he objected quietly, his own hair sliding down his shoulder to brush Coran's, “you've worked yourself to your bones keeping the infestation contained away from us long enough to get here,” he moved his mouth down along Coran's neck and across his shoulder, tugging the wrap out of his way as he moved, “and you should be sleeping.” He lingered over the bright cyan markings dragging down the dusky skin, tracing one with the tip of his tongue and letting out a shuddering breath when Coran pressed up into it.

The redhead reached up and back, burying his fingers in the soft strands at the base of Alfor's skull. He tugged, rolling over and pulling his king down for a slow, lingering kiss. “I will sleep better when I know that you are not left wanting, my liege,” he whispered against the blond's parted mouth, “I know that you will let yourself come to harm otherwise, and,” he grinned a little, pulling Alfor bodily down on top of him and rolling his hips up in the same motion, “don't you think I deserve a reward before I rest?”

“Well,” Alfor said breathlessly, the muscles of his arms trembling as he lifted them to finish peeling off the wrap, “when you put it that way, I suppose it would be rude of me not to—mmn.” He laughed into Coran's mouth as the redhead kissed him again. He dragged his fingers up Coran's sides, as though trying to feel the difference in his markings and the rest of his skin. His fingertips caught on the lip of a glandular vent, and he turned his hand to run his thumb over it as Coran quietly swore into his shoulder. “Blue stars, man, you always act like no one's played with your vents before,” he teased.

“You always act like it isn't something that would make any Altean come completely undone,” Coran gasped, arching into the touch and sighing when Alfor's mouth caught his again. He slid his hands up his king's body, pushing up his top and forcing Alfor to sit back long enough to lift it off over his head. Immediately, he dropped his hands to splay his fingers over Alfor's torso, dragging his callouses over no less than three of the blond's own vents.

Alfor gasped sharply and sagged, for a moment Coran's hands holding him up better than his own arm. He moaned against the redhead's neck, a ragged, guttural sound, then dragged himself downward to the nearest vent to press his lips against it. He moved his head back with Coran's demanding arch, following him back down into the mattress to drag his tongue against the puckered flesh. It pulled another frantic spasm from the redhead's spine, and a choked string of curses from his lips.

Coran hissed, tugging at Alfor's hair and shivering when the blond moaned against his vent. “Alfor, you're already shaking,” he panted, “you don't have a lot of time for foreplay.”

“I'm not a barbarian, Coran,” the blond growled, “I fully intend for both of us to thoroughly enjoy our first time having sex on a Hospitality Satellite.”

“Which will not happen if you are in pain--”

“We could get through this foreplay more efficiently if you'd stop just telling me to ream you, Coran,” Alfor said dryly, leaning back to give him a look. He swallowed hard at the look that the redhead gave him, making a small noise of almost distress when Coran's legs wrapped around his waist and the engineer ground upwards into him as best he could manage.

“Maybe,” Coran informed him huskily, “I just want you to _ream me_ , Alfor.”

The blond made another tiny noise in the back of his throat, blue eyes wide as he stared down at Coran. “You're wearing too many clothes for that,” he finally gasped, shuddering. He pushed backwards eagerly as Coran's legs unwound from his waist, unhooking his own pants and shoving them out of the way with trembling hands. He hissed as one thumb dragged over a reddened spot on his thigh, and cringed when Coran gently grasped his wrist to look at it more closely.

“How long have you been internalizing it?” The redhead asked quietly, ghosting the ridges of his callouses over the reddened spot. “Alfor, this is a day's worth of lust, at least. This is going to scar. Why didn't you--” He yipped when the blond grabbed him by the hair and yanked him forward, finding himself on his hands and knees with Alfor's erection half an inch from his face. He let out a quiet laugh, glancing up as the blond flinched at the puff of air over the bulbed tip of his penis. Their eyes met; Coran laughed again when Alfor twisted his hair, then lowered his gaze back to admire the flesh before him.

Alfor's erect cock was just over eight inches long, with a two inch bulbous tip, and dozens of half-inch tendrils along the length curling and flexing under the heat of his gaze. It wasn't the biggest Altean penis that Coran had even seen, but as far as he was concerned, it was in the top three as far as his favorites. He dropped his head to curl his tongue around the girth of the bulb, humming in the back of his throat at the sweet-chemical flavor that flooded his senses. His eyes fluttered closed as he relaxed his jaw and let Alfor push his head down further. The tendrils gripped and pulled against his tongue as the blond pushed him down, and he sighed contentedly at the sensation.

“We were trapped on the lower bridge, Coran,” Alfor sighed, loosening his grip to run his fingers through the coppery hair, “all of us, together, one room, no privacy. You were busy keeping the ship spaceworthy, Blaytz couldn't breathe, Gyrgan went into a light coma to cut down on his resource needs, I can't actually get satisfaction from Trigel, and Za—ah!--” his head rolled back slightly, and he took a moment to breathe through the sensation of what Coran was doing to him, “hn, and Zarkon can't bring himself to do anything with someone else in the room. I didn't want to push him. I won't.” He looked down as the redhead pulled back slightly to look up at him with amusement dancing in the bright violet eyes. “Oh, stop it, you _like_ being shoved around.” He pushed Coran's head back down with a laugh.

The redhead gave him a thumbs-up with one hand as the other splayed over Alfor's torso, callouses dragging over the puckered vents hard enough to make the blond give him another shuddering moan. He growled quietly in response, then choked when Alfor thrust shallowly against the vibrations. The tendrils against his tongue dug in, writhing as though trying to pull his mouth down further from the inside. He lavished attention on each one as best he could, tugging with cheeks and tongue and teeth and listening to the breathy sighs that dragged their way out of Alfor's throat in response.

He shivered when his king's hands slid down the length of his back to push at the waistband of his pants, and shifted so that they could both work them off without Coran's mouth losing its grip on Alfor's groin. The redhead choked on a small whine when his own erection bobbed free of the confines of the fabric, and arched his spine when the blond laughed and splayed his hands out over Coran's lower back.

“Come on, Coran, find me the--” Alfor laughed again when the engineer offered up a small tube of personal lubricant. “How long have you been holding that?” He tugged on the redhead's hair again, grinning down at him as Coran dragged in air through body vents.

“Long enough to have already warmed it, my king,” Coran grinned right back up at him, getting up onto his knees and leaning back on one hand to offer himself to Alfor. The other hand he brought up to touch himself, teasing his own tendrils with a soft, slow breath. He leaned back further, eagerly, when Alfor poured some of the liquid onto his fingers and reached forward to slide them under the soft weight of his testicles. A thin whine escaped him when one long finger pressed against the tight ring of muscle behind them, but he silenced himself with a faint twitch of his facial muscles and forced his body to relax against the gentle intrusion.

He did roll his head forward a little to give the blond an impatient look. “Alfor--”

“There's reaming and there's being rude,” was the prim response, as the slick finger sank into him to the base, squirming around for a moment before pulling out and joined by a second on its return. Alfor paused to kiss him as he scissored his fingers, helping him relax into the sensation as their tongues twined together. Alfor's free hand wrapped over the top of his around his erection, dragging a shudder from him as his tendrils escaped the slow stroke one by one, only to be reclaimed on the return.

He twisted his hips, trying to both thrust against the stroking and push back against the intruding fingers. The lack of satisfying friction made him whine again. “Alfor,” he repeated, a little more urgently and feeling as though the air refused to quite fill his breathing chambers.

“For the love of every blue star, Coran, _shut up_ ,” Alfor kissed him again, pushing hard against his mouth and following him down as he lay on his back with his feet pinned beneath his hips. He bore down on the redhead with both hands, pulling away to watch as Coran writhed beneath him. He gave the redhead a grin and turned his fingers, curling them until Coran suddenly spasmed and arched his back with a ragged cry. Alfor kissed him again, catching the end of the sound in his mouth and carefully spreading his fingers apart as the other moaned against his lips. He shifted himself forward, keeping his fingers spread and using the space between them to guide the tip of his erection.

Coran whined at the press, squirming back towards Alfor automatically and pulling on the handful of blond hair that had found its way back into his hand when he was quietly scolded for the motion. He made a choking noise when Alfor pulled his fingers back and stopped with just the bulb—while still a good two and a half inches, not nearly enough, in Coran's opinion—settled inside of him. He squirmed a second time, twisting his grip on Alfor's hair. “Alfor, I swear to--”

Whatever he had been about to say was interrupted by the king's sudden push forward, seating his hips flush against Coran's spread thighs. The blond grinned down at him as he struggled to keep his eyes from crossing and only ended up blinking rapidly upward as he tried to remember which vent he needed to breathe. “Don't swear, my friend,” Alfor hummed, leaning down to kiss along his jaw. The motion shifted his hips, and both he and Coran shuddered at the sensation. “Oh, it isn't like you at all.”

He didn't give Coran the opportunity to respond, immediately pulling out and trembling at the cool, cycled air on his tendrils before pushing back in and watching Coran's eyes cross before they slid closed. The redhead's fingers dug into the small of his back, and he dropped his forehead to Coran's collarbone as he finally gave up on their banter and focused on the task before him.

The suite filled with the rasp and slide of flesh, the slick slap of skin, and the ragged vocalizations of both men. Beneath that was a counterpoint of deepening creaks and groans from the bedframe, unnoticed entirely. Coran grabbed at Alfor's hair again, pulling his head back with a raspy cry as he came, tightening around the other man and reveling in the quietly hissed curses that filtered down to his ear. Alfor turned his head and bit him in the wrist as he came, startling a yelp from him.

Panting, turning his head to lick sweat from Coran's shoulder, Alfor focused on slowing his breathing. He felt Coran's hands gentle in his hair and stroke his abused scalp as if in apology. After a couple of minutes, the king lifted his head. “A day and a half,” he finally answered quietly, eyes locked on a sweat-soaked curl of hair wrapped around Coran's earlobe, “since the life support scramble.” He smiled at little at Coran's sudden scowl, and finally met his eyes. “Watching you work at top speed, watching your mind flash through potential ideas to find the best answer faster than an Otyop changes color, it was...” he dropped his eyes to Coran's mouth, watching his lips part in a silent 'oh' when he shifted his hips, already hard again, “the most enticing thing I've ever seen.”

Coran shivered, flexing his legs so he pushed up against Alfor again. “You know what would really make me enjoy my first sexual escapade in a Hospitality Satellite, Alfor?” He curled his fingers into the blond's scalp, pulling his head down to lick his ear. “If we broke the bed to pieces.” He almost choked when Alfor turned his head to bite at the side of his neck.

“Far be it for me not to make certain you enjoy yourself, Coran...”

 


End file.
